


Inadvisable

by doctoraicha



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shop Meet-Cute, Doubles Luge, M/M, Merlin Olympics, Modern AU, Modern Royalty AU, Too much cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctoraicha/pseuds/doctoraicha
Summary: Merlin moves to Camelot to train for luge. Prince Arthur of Camelot is also a luger. There's training, the Olympics, medals, and ill-advised sled sex. Basically boys being boys.





	Inadvisable

Merlin loved the luge.

 

When he was very small, his Mum had put him on his first sled and sent him down a little hillock in their back pasture.

 

From then on, he was hooked. By the time he headed to University in Manchester, he’d already been luging for 4 years, any time he could get to the 60m Chillfactore track. He spend just as much time snowboarding at the course in Cardiff, which was a bit closer to home, but it wasn’t his sport in the way the luge was.

 

He could taste, really taste, the Olympics.

 

He knew he’d never make it there, though. He had no way to fund training abroad; Britain had no proper Olympics luge track; and although he’d watched all the sliding events from at the Sochi Olympics on television, he really couldn’t see how he’d ever make it to one, much less actually compete.

 

And then, his father died.

 

He’d never known his father; the man had done little more than leave his Mum with a small blue eyed child and a name. Balinor Emrys had not been a good parent, and his Mum had never told him anything about the man.

 

But hed left Merlin everything, so the truth had to come out. He’d died in Camelot, the little mountainous kingdom between France and Spain Italy that was the domain of King Uther Pendragon. When he’d questioned Hunith, she’d admitted that Merlin’s father was a citizen, which made Merlin a citizen. A citizen of Camelot, whose Prince was a luger.

 

Now, a 24 year old Merlin had, apparently, a newly minted four year medicine degree and the opportunity to move to Camelot to inherit his father’s house. Apart from the house and Camelot’s Constantine III Hospital – where Merlin would have an excellent opportunity for his specialist training – Camelot had an _Olympic luge track._ He could only hope to be able to practice his runs enough to make the Olympic team.

 

***

 

Balinor Emrys had lived in a small cottage in the Old Town, just a mile or so from the Hospital, where Merlin was indeed able to complete his specialist training in Pharmaceutical Medicine. Merlin was dedicated to creating and testing new treatments for diseases, particularly neurological disorders. He worked directly with the illustrious Gaius Aurelianus, who was related – somehow, Merlin wasn’t sure of the details and didn’t care to ask – to Queen Igraine.

 

 

He’d been in the country for 6 weeks, and was settling into a routine with his training programme, when he decided it was high time he looked in at the sliding center. Pulling his little red car into the lot, he felt the familiar frisson of excitement. Leaving his bag in the car, he went in to meet Leon, the owner, who was also the country’s sliding coach.

 

“So you’re the new slider,” the blonde man who must have been Leon said, extending a hand in greeting.

 

“That’s me,” Merlin agreed. “I’m itching to get a look at the track, actually,” he added, grinning.

 

Leon walked the track with him. It was the longest track he’d ever seen in person and he was positively vibrating with excitement. Leon grinned. “I can see you’re built for it,” he said. “Do you have any gear? Do you want to take a run?”

 

“I’ve got a suit, but no sled,” Merlin said, regret in his voice. “I’ve only ever used loaners at the center in Manchester, and haven’t got round to buying my own yet.

 

“They can be pretty pricy,” Leon said. “I’ve got a couple around here you could borrow. I’d like to see how you get down the run. Why don’t you grab your gear and get changed,” he added, motioning at the men’s locker room.

 

Merlin did just that, emerging a few minutes later in a suit that he’d cobbled together off eBay. None of that mattered, though, as he accepted the sled from Leon.

 

“Just take it easy the first time down. You don’t know the track.”

 

“Gotcha, Coach,” Merlin said, grinning. “I don’t fancy any broken ribs this go, thanks.”

 

Merlin held himself back on his run, just jogging the sled out and hopping on face-up, feet first, and began his first run down Camelot’s Olympic sliding track. He stiffened all his muscles, holding his head up just high enough to see. He felt the sled gain speed as the hill dropped under him, and he was gone. He would have laughed for joy if he hadn’t been going over 100km per hour. The track record was well over 140km, but he had taken Leon’s advice to heart.

 

He met Leon at the bottom of the track. Leon was grinning.

 

“Christ, Emrys, you’re a natural. How many times have you made a run down an Olympic track?”

 

“One, if you include today,” Merlin answered.

 

“Get your skinny arse up there and do it for real this time. I want to see what you can do.”

 

Luge was like flying. You _willingly_ suit up in a spandex onesie, you run on ice on purpose, and you fling yourself onto the sled. Then you hold yourself as stiff as a board, only making the tiniest of adjustments with feet or shoulders. When luge went well, it looked effortless – like the only thing you had to do was hold on tight. When it went badly, you’d have the bruises, concussions, and cracked ribs to prove it.

 

Merlin spent four hours at the track that afternoon, only stopping because he really did have to get to a shift at the Hospital. Leon gave him the specs, and made him promise to order a new suit, shoes, and helmet – _competition quality_ – and Merlin complied. He had a really great job, no mortgage, and a small legacy from his father, and he planned to use it.

 

Leon set him up on a practice schedule, and Merlin began to go round to the sliding center 3 days a week. It was grueling, particularly on top of his specialist training, but he loved every minute, and he began to make friends outside of the Hospital (he’d meet Freya and Gwen his first week. They were _grand_ , really, they were, but it was good to have some mates who liked sport as much as he did).

 

Gwaine and Percy were the Camelot Olympic 2-man Bobsleigh team (Camelot didn’t manage a 4 man team in Sochi but they were trying to recruit this time around – Uther’s new Bobsleigh track was helping). Lancelot was, in Merlin’s opinion, _distractingly pretty_ and far too honorable for his own good. He was also a skeleton slider (also, in Merlin’s opinion, Lance was insane – he loved luge but going down the track at 140km _head first_ was fucking mental).

 

The sliding center had a little café, staffed by the inimitable Alice, who made the _best_ hot cocoa protein drink Merlin had ever had, and often supplied gorgeous hand-baked pastries.

 

Merlin realized with a start that he’d been training at the center for two months, and he was settling into his routine. One evening after he’d showered and changed, he headed over to the café to pick up one of Alice’s famous cocoas. As he entered the shop, he practically steamrollered a blond in sunglasses that was loitering at the door, apparently chatting up Alice.

 

“Oh, hell. Sorry, mate, it’s just I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Merlin said, reaching out to steady the man, half of whose cocoa was down his front.

 

“You _idiot_ ,” the man exclaimed. “What the fuck are you even _doing_ here. You don’t train here!” he shouted. “And I’m not your _mate_.”

 

“Obviously not, Merlin sniffed. “I wouldn’t have a friend as big an arse as you, so, yeah. I do train here, and maybe you should chat to Leon before you mouth off _.”_

 

“You can’t talk to me like that, idiot. Who do you think you are? Do you even know who I am? I could take you apart with one blow.”

 

“Like I’d let you blow me,” Merlin said, sniffing and looking at his fingernails.

 

The blonde went a mostly purple shade of infuriated red, and sputtered. Gwaine, who was in the café, was nearly rolling on the floor, he was laughing so hard.

 

While the blond continued to splutter, Merlin took a hard look at him.

 

_Oh fuck. It was Arthur, the Prince of Camelot, and the reigning Camelot Luge Champion_. Merlin knew that Arthur had been training and competing at several events in the USA and Canada in the last couple of months, but he hadn’t realized that the prince was returning so soon. He’d been counting on making a good impression, since Arthur was the only other male luger his age, and if he was able to get to the Olympics in two years, it could be really uncomfortable if he and Arthur couldn’t get on.

 

It didn’t help that Arthur was _gorgeous_.

 

“Look, I’m really sorry. It was totally my fault,” Merlin said, raising both hands in the universal gesture for giving up.

 

“Just get out,” Arthur managed.

 

Merlin did.

 

****

 

A year passed, a year in which Merlin trained hard, both on the sliding run and at the hospital. He saw Arthur infrequently until the circuit started; Merlin had managed a few international competitions in Switzerland and France, but hadn’t really made any kind of a splash. He might get to the Olympics but at this rate it was unlikely he’d get to do more than a single run before he was out. Still…. he’d get there, even if it wasn’t likely he’d be on the podium.

 

His initial rocky relationship with Arthur improved dramatically after he saved King Uther from choking on one of Alice’s pastries; medical training really did come in handy. Evidently Uther had known Balinor, and respected his work as a veterinarian, even if he didn’t approve of his having left a girl alone and pregnant in Wales.

 

Arthur and Merlin had become friendly – mates, even, and had gone for a drink on several occasions with the group from the sliding center. But Merlin didn’t want to be one of Arthur’s constellation of hangers-on, so he tried to keep his distance.

 

Leon didn’t get the memo.

 

****

 

“I think you should try doubles,” Leon said. It was as if he’d literally lit a stick of dynamite and thrown it at them, Merlin felt so shocked.

 

“Look. Neither of you are fast enough to medal alone in PyeongChang,” Leon went on. “Merlin’s only been training for a year, and Arthur, let’s face it. You’ve been 4th, 5th, and 7th this year on the circuit.

 

“Merlin’s not even broken into the top 10, and you want to saddle me with him?” Arthur exclaimed, looking insulted.

 

“Damn it, Arthur, I just want you to give it a try. I just want to see if I can get you on the medal podium, and you both have the build for it,” Leon said. “What do you think, Merlin?”

 

“You want me to lay on top of _him_?” Arthur demanded.

 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Always the assumption I _want_ to touch you.” Arthur looked a little abashed at that.

 

“Come on, Merlin. You don’t really want to try doubles, do you?” he demanded.

 

“Look, you guys are both professionals. Just try it. It can’t hurt and I have gut feeling,” Leon interrupted Arthur’s stare, which was a good thing since Merlin was trying to break eye contact but didn’t seem able to make himself do it.

 

Arthur huffed, but Merlin, from long experience verbally sparring with his training partner (and yes, they were some sort of friends), knew Arthur was going to agree with Leon.

 

“Get the sled, Leon. I’ll try it once. I want a medal as much as you do, mate,” Merlin said.

 

Arthur nodded.

 

That first time down the track was a disaster. When Arthur leaned back on top of him, Merlin lost his breath. It was all awkward angles and bony elbows, and they had been so bad Leon had nearly given it up in vain. But it was not for nothing Arthur was the most competitive arsehole Merlin had ever known, and by the time they left the center that evening, they were posting passable times and not crashing any longer.

 

By the end of the month, they were posting times that were sometimes better than some of the best teams in the world. It was like they clicked, and even though those drivers had been paired for years, Merlin and Arthur just had the right chemistry and style.

 

It was _excruciating_.

 

***

 

Only Merlin’s professionalism kept him from popping an unfortunate boner at the thought of Arthur on top of him, much less the actual event, in those early days. Arthur was the fucking crown prince, for fuck’s sake, and _fuck_. No. Just, no. Merlin had banished the thought of Arthur on top of him as much as he could. After all, Arthur wasn’t even gay; he’d dated at least one woman that Merlin knew of and probably had several others that he hadn’t mentioned.

 

Prince Arthur was all in, focused only on the runs. They spent so much time together that Merlin became (almost) inured to Arthur’s charms and never, even in his quietest hours late at night, did he let himself imagine what it would be like to be with him. Well, he almost never imagined it. Almost never imagined Arthur’s blinding smile and laser focus on him. Never imagined him pulling that towel off in the

 

Once they’d been training together as a pair for over a year, Merlin completed his specialist training with Gaius and had gone to work with Monmouth Clinical Research in the city. But Arthur really wanted to get some training in on other tracks. He was right, of course; if they wanted to win they really needed to do it. So Merlin took a 6 month leave of absence from his job and headed out on a training mission that would take them half way around the world to the United States.

 

Merlin came around the corner in the changing rooms after his post-training shower and there was Arthur, leaning on his own locker in only his trousers, looking up through his still-damp fringe at Mordred, that creepy Russian bloke that Merlin had instantly disliked. Mordred was leaning into the Prince, one arm on the locker next to Arthur’s head, and, catching sight of Merlin, he whispered something that the brunet didn’t hear. Arthur’s head whipped toward Merlin, and his cheeks reddened under Merlin’s gaze. _Well, that was that, then_ , Merlin thought.

 

“Carry on, Princess,” Merlin said, using Gwaine’s nickname for Arthur for the first time.

 

Arthur’s eyes darkened. “Fuck off, Merlin,” he said, pushing off the locker and pulling a polo over his head. “Come on, Mor,” he added, grabbing the Russian’s hand and practically stalking out of the room.

 

Merlin deflated, pretending he didn’t know where his anger came from. _It was supposed to be me_ , came the thought, unbidden. _It was supposed to be me he wanted to experiment with_.

 

****

 

The next ten days were the worst sliding they had done since that first week, really. Merlin could barely keep still, couldn’t look at Arthur, couldn’t talk to him. Arthur, by contrast, kept up a steady stream of barbed commentary about Merlin’s intelligence, athletic ability, personal style, ears, choice of footwear – anything and everything, Arthur picked.

 

Finally one night, after a particularly bad run, Leon had had enough. “I don’t know what the _fuck_ has got into you two,” he practically snarled. “ _Sort it_. Don’t come out of that locker room until you have,” he indicated the changing rooms.

 

It was very late, and by the time they had both showered and changed, no one else was around.

 

“So,” Arthur said.

 

“So.” Merlin answered, still unable to look at him.

 

“So, I’m bisexual, and apparently you have a problem with that. I know you’re a homophobic git, but fuck, we’ve been sliding together for almost three fucking years. Can’t you…” Arthur trailed off, looking over Merlin’s shoulder, and ran an impatient hand through his hair.

 

“Arthur,” Merlin said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“You— you know. You _hated_ touching me at first, you flinched away every time I had to get on the sled. You made that remark about not letting me blow you that time. You went practically green when you saw me with Mordred, and nothing’s even going on there by the way,” Arthur said.

 

Merlin just stood there, looking at Arthur, whose arms were now crossed over his chest. “Just, fuck, Merlin. Just, can’t you get over it?”

 

“I’m gay,” Merlin said.

 

Arthur’s eyes snapped to his. “What? No, you’re not. You’re dating that Freya. You guys are always out together.”

 

“Trust me, Arthur. Trust me on this. I am certainly not dating Freya, and I am categorically gagging for cock. Trust me.”

 

It was Arthur’s turn to look surprised. “So… why?”

 

“Maybe I flinched away because I was trying _really hard_ to be professional.” Merlin leaned against the closed locker and looked back at Arthur.

 

Arthur grinned.

 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “We’re good, then?” he asked, a little uncertain, leaning his head on the locker at his back.

 

Arthur pushed his advantage. “Why’d you look like that when you saw me with Mordred?”

 

Merlin could feel the hot blush climb up his neck to his ears while Arthur held his eyes. The Prince nodded once and took three slow steps toward Merlin. “Do you want this?” he nearly whispered, leaning over him.

 

Merlin could do nothing, not even break the eye contact. Arthur was so close, and Merlin couldn’t move. It was almost as if he was waiting to see what Arthur did.

 

“Dr. Emrys,” Arthur said in his poshest voice, “can I kiss you?”

 

“That is a spectacularly bad idea,” Merlin said. “We’re partners.”

 

“Yes, it is,” Arthur said, and Merlin felt the air across his lips just before Arthur claimed them. Someone moaned – it was probably Merlin – and Arthur practically shoved him against the locker in an effort to get closer before suddenly wrenching himself away to pant heavily against the other wall.

 

“Not here. Come to my quarters, Merlin, _gods_.”

 

Merlin shook his head. “We can’t fuck up our Olympics, Arthur.”

 

“We won’t.”

 

“You’re my partner and my friend. We can’t have inadvisable sex and expect that nothing will change.”

 

“Of course not, everything will change,” Arthur said.

 

“Well then, there’s your answer.”

 

“Merlin, if all I wanted was a quick shag in the changing rooms Mordred was willing and able,” Arthur said.

 

“But you’re the Prince,” Merlin said.

 

“I am aware.”

 

“I can’t be a dirty little secret, Arthur.”

 

Arthur looked affronted. “You probably don’t know this since I thought you were a raging homophobe but my Father thinks we have been shagging basically since we met and has tried to convince me to make a public announcement several times. He won’t believe we aren’t together and it’s all I can do to stop him issuing a press release!”

 

Merlin looked startled. “Why would he think we’re…?” Merlin made a frustrated hand gesture that indicated the space between them.

 

“He said it was obvious we were _well acquainted_ with each other – and yes, I could hear the italics when he said it. Morgana laughed for weeks about that.

 

“Well, I mean. It’s the luge. Ok. But why does he think we are a couple?”

 

“Maybe because we spend 90 percent of our time together and the other ten percent I can’t stop talking about you. Damn it, Merlin, I was half in love with you when I thought you were a heterosexual homophobe!”

 

Merlin laughed. “You really mean it. You seriously want me?”

 

“In many, many ways, Merlin.”

 

“Well then,” Merlin said, and picked up his bag.

 

Arthur looked gutted. “Don’t just leave.”

 

“You’re coming with me, I hope. I am going to your quarters, where I’m hoping you will join me, and then I will strip you down to nothing and get my hands on your cock.”

 

***

 

The door was hardly closed and Merlin was shoving Arthur up against the door of the closet and stripping off his jacket. Arthur was fidgeting around to toe off his trainers, and broke their kiss only to say, “Off,” into the crook of Merlin’s neck while he pulled at Merlin’s track suit.

 

“Impatient,” Merlin observed, as if he wasn’t stripping Arthur’s kit off as fast as he could go.         

 

Once Arthur had his trousers around his ankles, he suddenly slowed. “Can I…, I need to…”

 

“Anything, fuck, just get your hands on me.”

 

“I need to suck you,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s cock went from really interested to rock hard in about 3 seconds flat as Arthur hit his knees. Arthur nuzzled along his length as if he were precious and fragile and Merlin’s cock strained up to meet his mouth. When Arthur’s mouth closed over the head, Merlin’s knees buckled and it was only top-athlete form that kept him on his feet.

 

“Fuck, Arthur,” he ground out, resisting the urge to fuck the Prince’s throat. When Arthur bobbed down and took his entire length, Merlin saw stars, and pushed Arthur off. “If you want this to be over in about 5 seconds you can keep doing that. Otherwise bed. Now.”

 

Arthur grinned. “I want to open you up slowly and fuck you for hours,” Arthur said.

 

“Oh, gods,” Merlin breathed.

“On the sled, oh fuck, I want you to fuck me on the sled,” Arthur groaned, settling himself on top of Merlin.

 

“Suck my cock, Arthur,” Merlin demanded. Arthur kissed down his stomach, and licked Merlin’s dick like a pro, holding him down on the bed with one slightly calloused hand. When Merlin came, arching up and crying Arthur’s name, the Prince laughed.

 

“What?” Merlin said, slightly affronted.

 

“That first time we met, when you told me you wouldn’t let me suck your cock.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“It was all I could think about for weeks. Getting my mouth on your cock. No one speaks to me like that and it was, fuck, it was so fucking hot. You have no idea.”

 

“Public school boys and their authority chubbies,” Merlin chuckled. “Are you going to fuck me or lay here thinking about what I’m going to do you?”

 

Arthur reached for the lube on the bedside table and applied a liberal amount to his hand. “You have no fucking idea,” he rasped, and then he kissed him. Arthur slid a finger inside Merlin’s tight ring, then another. It was tight, and Merlin was tense, but then Arthur twisted against his prostate and he saw stars, lifting his arse up off the bed to reach under himself and palm his hardening cock.

 

“Fuck, yeah, like that, fuck,” he managed. Arthur bit at his shoulder, and sucked a bruise into Merlin’s neck, adding a third finger and working Merlin open. By the time Arthur fed his cock into Merlin’s hole, the brunette was all but gibbering Arthur’s name; one stroke, two, and Arthur found the angle that drilled Merlin’s prostate on every stroke until Merlin was coming, cock in hand, for the second time in less than an hour.

 

Merlin was shaking, pushing back against his lover, shouting out his climax until Arthur pumped in one last time, his whole body tightening with his orgasm. He raised his arms and collapsed on Merlin’s back, body languid with completion.

 

It was Merlin’s turn to laugh. “Budge off, you great lump,” he said. “You get to use me as a pillow on the track but not in fucking bed.”

 

Arthur was laughing. “We’re still having sled sex, you know.”

 

“Fuck off, we are not.”

 

“Come on, babe,” Arthur cajoled.

 

“I’m ‘babe’ now?”

 

“Yes, get used to it,” Arthur said, reaching for a towel that was discarded next to the bed and cleaning the both of them up.

 

“Alright. We’re still not having sled sex though, honey,” Merlin said languidly.

 

“Honey? And yes, we are having fucking sled sex.”

 

“Maybe, I’m still trying them on. Snookums? Sweetie? Pookie? Stud?”

 

“How about Tiger?”

 

“Nah, _cariad_ , we don’t want you getting a big head, and we’re still not having sled sex.

 

Arthur leaned up on one arm. “I’ll make you a deal. We’ll be on the podium, and then you’ll let me ride you while you’re in position on the sled.”

 

Merlin’s traitorous cock twitched, and Arthur grinned. “Come on, baby,” Arthur said, pressing feather-light kisses along Merlin’s jaw.

 

Merlin agreed.

 

A man had to know when he was beaten, after all. And what were the odds?

 

***

 

Fairly good, as it turned out; they came home to Camelot with Bronze medals, finishing third behind the Germans and Austrians, and just three hundredths of a second ahead of an second German team. Arthur kept looking at Merlin with a side-eyed glance that Merlin _knew_ meant trouble, but there was no way to get any _alone time_ in the sled shed at the games.

 

But Arthur had a plan, oh yes, he had a plan.

 

The first night back at training, Arthur dawdled, making them take several more runs past the time when the center closed, and taking so much time in the shower that Merlin was pretty sure he was having a wank in there. Alice and the others were long gone Leon gave it up as a bad business and told Merlin to lock up when his boyfriend was done being such a princess.

 

Merlin finally went in search, fed up with waiting. He didn’t find Arthur in the changing rooms or the café, and finally located him in the sled shed. Of course.

 

Arthur was naked, and hard. He was leaning against the back wall, lazily stripping his cock.

 

“It’s a good job Leon didn’t come looking for you,” Merlin said, stripping off his hoodie and Arthur, who still hadn’t said anything, propped a foot up on a bench and reached behind himself. Merlin palmed his cock through his track pants.

 

“We are having sled sex,” Merlin stated, and Arthur only nodded to the sled at his feet before he threw his head back and moaned, arching into his hand as it breached his hole.

 

It was the sled they won the medal on, of course.

 

Merlin stripped off completely, not taking his eyes off his lover for a moment while he stripped his cock with one hand and fingered himself with the other. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Merlin assumed his sled position, working his cock over. “Get over here and fuck me, blondie,” he said.

 

Arthur grinned. “What happened to ‘cariad’,” he asked. “I liked that one.”

 

“You are making me have sled sex and I’m going to pop an unfortunate boner every time we make a run from here on out, you know that, right?”

 

Arthur moaned. “If only,” he said and straddled Merlin, reaching behind him to slide Merlin’s cock into his hole.

 

Merlin’s hands grasped Arthur’s waist and held on while his Prince buggered himself on Merlin’s dick, the grind and slide and hot, wet heat of him making Merlin pant and struggle to thrust up.

 

“Fuck, no, too soon,” Arthur said, grinding down one last time as he shot ropes across Merlin’s chest. “I love you, baby,” he said, rolling his hips in a way calculated to bring Merlin off with just the kind of efficiency Arthur was known for on the track.

 

“I love you too, clotpole,” he said. “But you’re the fucking Prince.”

 

“Marry me anyway.”

 

“The succession-” Merlin bit out, tears in his eyes.

 

“Sorted with my Dad and Morgana before Pyeongchang. Morgana’s children will be my heirs after her. Dad doesn’t care. He just wants me to be happy.”

 

“And I-”

 

“You make me happy, Merlin. Come stay with me and be my husband, and rule with me over our people all our days.”

 

Merlin knew when he was beaten.

 

 


End file.
